


savarin

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, drinking + intoxication, future foundation canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 05:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13517343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: a request nyohoho





	savarin

**Author's Note:**

> a request nyohoho

it'd started when she'd gotten her hair cut.

they're best friends, right, attached at the hip since high school. they're best friends, so where he himself can play the contortionist's praise to slide within, somehow somewhere into the thinnest crevice of their relationship to breed it thrice- a hundred nights spent half slept haven't drawn a conclusion, so he's decided to ditch the extra cappuccino and let dogs lie as they may.

but she'd gotten her hair cut, the finest satin cords lopped to allow sun a taunting shoulders, walked into the office a tuesday morning to clap along orders as any other. ten thousand and one compliments had made up for the missing weight off her scalp. togami thought, only personal, she looked like every other dujour same faced bimbo that struts through these dim lit halls, pumps a meter tall, top buttons forsaken just in time to deliver the big boss his morning mail. trendy. naegi makoto likes trendy things. naegi makoto likes everything, though that's aside the point, and he so especially likes to walk his eyes along the prize box behind every one of those aforementioned buttons dipped south and pretend no one's noticed with a cough into a fist and a shake of the ooey gooey color in vulgarity from his expression.

naegi makoto loves breasts and miniskirts and lacy panties over plush asses, and the best togami can offer is a coffee date and a shove of his forehead down in his cadillac's front seat, so he's on his third glass of tanqueray, because she'd gotten her hair cut.

it rests now in braids tucked round the ears, and naegi had made a comment about some sci-fi princess the moment he walked into the apartment's living room front, and togami had rolled his eyes and topped off his cup.

"left, or right?" he's reminded of yearly visits to the optometrist. but naegi bears no doctorate, far from it, merely the dense swagger packed to either boot, hands clutched behind the back to a sprightly dew drop smirk.

eyes glance between them each, one sat to couch corner and one to a high backed match just adjacent. ice jangles by night's closure taut. togami pads his lids in a blink and says, "right."

kirigiri does not glance his way. cotton lines soft the legs tucked beneath her, pattern gaudy along such lush. she sniffs. "left."

though he could never once press it, naegi's mood takes a blow glown nuclear, puckers lips to midst. he's a gopher to the burrow of epiphany so sudden after it is hardly at all a blockade born. "i guess we'll have to watch both, then."

either dvd case is waved from the hide. he drops to haunches, denim fibers taking the most idle effort to skin forced, knees strong in decades ground wild, and togami can only describe it in such finite detail because he's been staring at his dark jeaned ass in the way it just  _begs_ for gazing frequent and now- but, whatever, the next time he's even aware of what he's spent the last half minute upon, the fixation is dropped to the sofa cushion just aside the third, and the scene selection's flickering long her flat screen.

sometimes best friends have movie nights. sometimes best friends invite their favorite third wheel along for the ride. catch him refusing- easy had it come, very actually, but he'd thought a spell past on the cappuccino and the dogs and the blah, the blah, and of course the blah, and he'd agreed to be there with bells on.

the only bells he'd like to hear are the ones marking his corpse has been discovered, but perhaps that's a tad too sensitive a reference to make. he silences himself by gin's tart rim.

he doesn't care to point out that he's the only one drinking, or that kirigiri had set the bottle to the coffee table aside a single clean tumbler without once meeting his eye, doesn't care to care because the film's a goddamn bore the first twenty minutes in. and he'd know. he's smart. he likes movies. but not this one. he tilts his head in a sip.

there'd be no need to tempt a .08 were his hands not drawn to such trembles in their sheer gripped tightness. not to stop there, though, as his every cell has clenched a pressure throbbing ever since the knob rattle and the  _hah- hey, leia,_ all for so he cannot stop his metro mind from parking at station triple six. she'd cut her hair, and naegi and every other  _man_ at the office hadn't let that slip attention since. kirigiri kyouko has quite the gentle face when the illusion of soft rounds to either side is gathered by curtains dragged parted. she's just-  _fuck her! she's pretty!_ but he's prettier, tenfold, hundredfold, and it isn't that he wishes to be fawned upon by the future foundation's elite crew of horny barbarians, it's just that...that this movie's boring, so liquor sloshes the half way mark inside tinted glass once it's set back down.

"are you even paying attention?" cajoles his glance to the side. naegi's got his expression all knitted up like some typeset emoticon, eyes laughing in their pinch and a tongue that matches to its thinnest prod from teeth. togami tells him, yes, of course he's paying attention, and doesn't add an epilogue to specify. but he knows naegi has eighty two lashes on his bottom right lid.

some kind of car crash yelps across the rainstorm filtered screen. he would have sworn palm to holy writ that the starring roles were reflected through coffee shop windows mere the second past, though perhaps he's tangled shoddy american actors with his daydream of dual straw civet. just a touch.

and when those b rater aspirants profess an ardor shared over collapsing slats of a sky high wanderer's bridge, he wonders how much kirigiri paid for this gin, and then that makes him laugh because, well, kirigiri gin. ha.

he doesn't think that's appropriate to say either, though. the credits roll, and naegi pulls his dandelion tuft bedhead up from the nestle into shoulder to blink in the room's fast grown dark. wet reflects in hazel greens when a yawn forces it, and to his rise he says, "i'm borrowing some pajamas," before he's pushed by limbs stretching fine to pursuit.

lone another, kirgiri shifts to legs straightened, wastes not the moment crossing them neat. to a note they bear a twinned statues promo poster, togami plucks one leg of his own from rested atop the other knee to kiss sole to carpet. july sparklers sizzle lilac along his jaw.

"i've got milano cookies in the pantry," she tells him bored. "i'd prefer the smell of that vomited in my carpet than just the gin."

his hand lifts only to draw all fingers centered before her face. "the only time i've ever thrown up was because you walked in the room." then he laughs. once. short.  _hah._

she guides her glance back straightforth, arms fold to calm comfort. "oh. burn."

he'd go onwards patting himself on the proverbial back, too, caught only to a bullet bounce focus span cross the room next. naegi returns to complete their fate bound trio. soft blue plaid pools slight at either shuffling foot. he curls the lengths beneath his seat back to spot, silent for the first time's forever by the munching gone behind closed armoire. a cellophane lined bag of milano cookies offers his direction. the staring match cuts off to his decided long pull.  _very_ tart.

not a hundred digit fund could bid him to tell what the second plot apprises. not for the sake of dignity, but only on the factor that he's certain it began in an alleyway, so he isn't sure how a hospital setting and a screaming newborn fit to that, or the jarring guitar riff to splice it or the laughing headbang tossed by the milano crumb mouthed rocker- or, no maybe that wasn't in the movie. or maybe imax should be getting their secrets from hundred yen redbox rentals.

"that's just...bull _shit,"_ he decides to commentate after there's not but five minutes left of the film and not but five shots left swilling at the bottle's bottom. a finger prods open air for theatrics in his antonius speech. "what's she supposed to say to that? he just  _loves_ her after putting her through all that. almost got her killed in a car crash. now the building's burning down and he  _loooves_ her, so that's supposed to save them now? the bridge is about to-to fall down, for god's sake."

never the intention, but a chuckle garnered is nary sneeze worthy. "the bridge was in the last movie, togami. and the car crash. have you been watching at all?"

"listen to me, naegi," and that finger points direct to his nose's tip, makes him draw back to a further lean gainst their other who remains distracted nigh by the antic. "what the hell would you say if the office burned down- was burning down? hagakure left his-his _marijuana_ on the copy machine and the whole place caught flames."

"what would i say? well, probably, uh...oh no! the building is on fire!"

"let me  _finish,_ naegi." feet bring him standing. shadows cast along his contours in the television's light a cape against his back. "what would you say, if the building was on fire," his voice breathes low, wavering patterns and blasts again to bellows, "and i said, i love you, makoto, i've always loved you. and- and-and i want you to,  _whan-whan_ with me after work?"

naegi peers to him, a peculiar little statue of a mewling siamese sat stone back, marbles for eyes solid, and he'd have not the thinnest clue what the sound effect entails had it not been accompanied by the classy in-out motion of bucking waist. and despite all, all heat creeping nape, he breaks faster to laughter. "i dunno, togami. i'd probably say, oh no! the building's on fire!"

backward his head tips, drawls expensive his groans. "precisely, that's what i'm saying. this movie is  _stupid_. having a bridge indoors is just faulty architecture to begin with, no wonder it caught fire."

to match him, naegi pushes hands to cushions to lift himself straightened, smiling so easy he's likely stolen furtive glances a penned up quiz next way. "i'll make sure to email the director tomorrow. now let's get you home."

"i'm perfectly  _capable,"_ spits he stern for no proper reason, strikes an arm back in the most pleasant timing to meet wall and save a slip. he does not quite understand why naegi takes so much bemusement in his every thought, speech, action, but he's slapping it fresh again behind a finger curled before lips more tantalizing than-  _shit,_ anything, more than anything. togami would beg the air conditioning be struck high now were he positive he had all his finger bones intact. regardless- he's, uh, he's bitching, about something or other so he should probably get back to that. "i'll do it my _self._ i've done everything myself my whole goddamn life, naegi. do you know what it's like to grow up with no  _puh-_ ternal warmth? my father was  _shitty_. he didn't love me. he didn't love me, naegi. i had to learn how to ride a bike by my _self._ could you even imagine the-the skill that takes?"

a brush falls along his solid muscled form, face the same silent wool, and kirigiri's unraveling her braids to a silky crimped frame about angel face as she says, "don't be too loud pulling the futon out."

togami senses some kind of exhaustion in him that's a slight mark differed from a long day drizzled to midnight. exasperation, he thinks. but naegi has nothing to be exasperated with. it isn't like he had to teach himself to ride a bike. "fucking  _nuclear families,"_ goes his growl to the thoughts circling. tenderness has begun guiding throw pillows to arm chair seat, tugging in gruff grunts the oak wood coffee table to slide along the rug and press gainst a side wall. he watches him, freshwater blues tittering about mildly in his skull that too waggles on his sucker stick neck. at the very least, it's what he feels like, balanced improper to weight thrown a thousand kilo crown and legs that scramble to support. they lose the fight close enough to be caught swift at the sides, and naegi makoto on three cups of black brew and a fan-spanking-tastic night's sleep is no match to support his weight, so fatigued from moonlight and soft cotton, seven minute boiled fettuccine biceps after dragging an antique coffee table five feet across a carpet naegi makoto-  _breath -_ is certainly none, and it's no shock to find him pulled forward by such a dead weight anchor and match chest to chest a brief split.

a door shuts somewhere near off. naegi blinks in a tug of himself upwards righted. only so slight is togami put off by the loss, because he's still got his sirloin mind simmering in a prime crafted broth of aversion. "you don't know what it's like to struggle, naegi," he says as he worms his way to lain flat at the front, sheets crinkled months worth of folded taut away, and he doesn't know what the pressure on his feet is, but he's sure they feel nicer now freed from stiff toed leather.

one gains the careful fold of eyeglasses thieved. warmth caresses to his back, too, different than what had lit him so in the contact he still yearns after in memory, different than the sweat that begs his palm slick blond from the forehead. he exhales a steam broiled note. some same sort of suffering sizzles at his sides, similar to the shoes, same as silk sat sweet on shoulders- metal creaks below him in a demanding spin unto his back, twists the blanket a hurricane at the waist, though he's far from bothered there. "where are you  _going_ , naegi?"

that calls his nurse a shoulder turn, where he faces him new in the dim living room midnight. "uh." his tongue is condensed milk in its slow smooth along his top lip (togami isn't sure exactly how, but it sounds poetic in his head and they're both things he'd like to lick, so he deems it righted and carries on). "i was gonna go to bed... i always sleep in kyouko's bed when i stay over, so-"

" _fuck_ kyouko," says his pouted model mouth, says the tug on the other's wrist in a one-beat snatch out. "voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir."

he'd catch the eye roll if he cared to, but it's the easy aired simper that truly entices him, and he's sure kirigiri's tempurpedic queen is much better on the spine than a rickety futon pulled out from her sofa, and he's sure naegi's warm as hell in the literal to lay down aside and watch his chest deflate over sheer curtain moonlight to finality.

"you don't struggle," he mumbles, thinks it the first and the hundredth, and the recipient turns cheek to pillow top in a skeptic's gander. from his writhing nori wrap of a self within the covers, he kicks either leg in liberation. naegi takes to  _that_ struggle in a sit forward and tug upon the blanket til it snakes from beneath him.

togami does not process the steps written about end goal, but the paisley yellow polyester feels a gold trim fleece when tarped across them neat again. settled to either once over, naegi in back to mattress and eyes to ceiling, his match likewise though allowing gaze to wander. he wonders how he'll react knowing he's allowed (no-  _begged_ ) naegi makoto to share his bed, or that he's taken to kirigiri's futon for the night, or that he's at all what is he and how he behaves. but then he thinks he knows that already, and he thinks it's just wonderful, so it must be fine. fine.

his throat clears to an amphitheater echo. naegi makes the fatal error of glancing toward it, to which togami's floated cross lake bed look chews itself up messy. "what? what're you looking at,  _naegi?_ maybe thinking i'm too out of it to see you dressing me with your eyes?"

"yeah, you looked cold," he says, rolls those tailors a swivel and trains back straight. "...i can leave if you're-"

"you can  _leave_ and go be with your best friend in the  _whooole wiiide_ goddamn world. we get  _it,_ naegi, you just  _looove_ kyouko so much, you love her, you can't stand the thought of being away from her for five minutes." he couldn't place what's struck the match exactly, though it's easy knowledge that alcohol's a flammable mistress. a wrist wipes the wet from his lip. "what about if we have kids? you'll just waltz off with kirigiri and leave me alone to care for them all day?"

"uh...togami?"

an ocean tide sort of swallow forces down his throat, and his fists hit the bed to a waver gone over lips. "why don't you like me anymore? 'cause- because she cut her hair, so now she's sexier than me. but you liked her better before then, too. i can get my hair cut, too. i can shave it all the fuck off, naegi! would that make you like me?"

fingers clutch the covers a rabbit's cower, though he'd doubt truly is it fear over naegi's face but nonplus more so, goes steady with his hesitance. "...i like you, togami. kyouko is my best friend, yeah, but so are you."

his mouth steadies, head a wobbling wavering rather to his shake of it, blinking, blinking. light glints over his irises in their newfound shine. "i'm not your best friend," mutters he to a heavy switch inwards. he lands to final comfort overturned, face in shoulder crook that does not refuse the contact. slurs go muffled. "you're my best friend. i'm not your best friend."

something scrunches naegi's doe nose. perhaps it's the gin and shame on his breath. "i wouldn't be here taking care of you right now if i didn't like you, togami."

"yes, you would,  _bitch,"_ he's quick to refute back, smirks thick to his jaunting wit. "you love everybody in the whole goddamn world. you'd do anything for anybody. ...god, naegi, you're beautiful."

there comes that wince away from touch now, not entirely so to revulsion but more timid heart.

"i mean...maybe you're right," he could laugh. "i do want to help everyone, but you're different. i've known you for, like, ever. you and kyouko, asahina, hagakure, we all- oh, and fukawa -we all went through so much together. nothing could break that kind of bond. we have to stick together...for everyone we lost. we have to carry on, for them, and everyone else to come." when he turns those spotlight eyes along him fresh, they pinch to laughter a savior. "...sorry for getting all serious. but i mean it. i like you, togami."

thousand pound weights rest to either eyelid in their soupy blinks. his tongue akin feels twice his mouth's capacity, and he quakes to ghosting gone flesh. "i want to be a good dad, naegi. our children deserve better than what i had."

flat goes his mouth, tight. "...right," naegi says, offers his hand to pat the other's shoulder blade. fire crawls so pleasant beneath it. "you'll...be a great dad. someday."

chin to bony socket, togami shifts to peer at his face’s side, gone to be met in a slide backward of neck. from the inches to split them, he can see naegi's star litter freckles are bound by a warmth, one that spreads to either ear when those inches demand zero. but togami isn't so brash a man to  _kiss_ him surely, and naegi isn't so bold a flight response to pull back and leave pursed gin sour lips to land at his chin, elegance wrung and pulse throbbing- or, no, that's exactly what's happened. and togami laughs.

"i knew you were lying," he milks out once his mouth is again his own. "that was a  _test,_ naegi. you failed."

"i-"

"you'd let  _kyouko_ kiss you. you'd-you'd put on her bra and panties while she's not home and  _dance_ around." both hands take action swiping spit from his chin, flick them a comic's either way broad.

not so twisted within his own, he'd call that expression granted a paddle back to his vexing. "kyouko wouldn't kiss me. and she's a bigger cup size than me."

the second falls ignored, spits out, "you think she's sexier than me now, with her haircut and her  _boobs,"_ and naegi exhales a harsh b minor.

"she isn't interested in me, togami, and i'm not in her. she looks good with her haircut, sure, what do you want me to do, say my best friend is ugly?" that exhasperation plays a full house lined. "...you're handsome, too."

"what's-?"

"nothing," waves him off. naegi sighs a petulant toddler's caregiver. "i'm...tired, togami. let's get some sleep."

sheets complain to his shift over a side, faces the windowed wall to melodious heaven glow over his delicacy. for all that togami cannot think, he does find it only the most natural that he's to follow, lay arm to rest over his stiffed hip bone and nose to nape's warmth. it doesn't tickle him so as it would have a six month behind, trimmed and tamed by shears demanded in maturity. and he puts two and two together to say that perhaps, really, it started when  _he_ had gotten his hair cut, because that's when he'd noticed how drop dead gorgeous a face naegi makoto flaunts, how deliciously he's aged to robust young adulthood. that's what  _it_ is. her mimicking had only pushed him further off the crumbling slat wood bridge.

(inside the burning building.)

his breath out tickles that trim and tame, draws his attention and fingers to drag through it. naegi relaxes neath his moonlit touch. it's too much. it's enough. it could never be all needed to satiate.

"naegi," mumbles a hush once he's finished the stumbles of tongue and teeth. "i want you to be my boyfriend, i think."

the lax gifted goes only a moment's relent, back to placid aside flesh beating calmed, melts to him same as sugarcane.

"...ask me again when you're sober," naegi says, and tucks himself further into his chest.

_when he's sober,_ the very last thing he thinks about is romance.

"good morning," kirigiri says once the blender's scorching whirs fade to a mute. strawberry smoothie lines her top lip. togami groans haughty beneath the pillow atop his rattling skull. "i was thinking about trying out my new cymbal set today."

groans turn growls, headache turns headrush as he whips into sitting. whip likewise goes his arm slung quick, and naegi's one step from the side doored bathroom the same second he grips hands to the pillow flown across the way. he blinks to it, to the cannon, spreads color along his face to a smile just as warm. "morning, togami. how are you feeling?"

"like taking ten advils and locking my door." the blanket pulls from his waist in time to planting feet to the floor. muscles tremble in his rise. naegi tilts his head in his look onward.

"how about two, and a big glass of water?" tempts him, watches naegi's approach to trade the pillow for the strewn covers and begin the bed's touch ups. something irks him in that offering, in the making of the bed and the  _cute_ smeared across his tone.

"i don't need you to take care of me," and it isn't as harsh as he intends, all the same a thousandfold more. he exhales to a fixing of wrist cuffs. "i... _appreciate_ the hospitality. but i'm going home."

hands tuck blankets to corners as he nods. "ah, okay. drive safe."

he's seated to the sofa's arm, and he'd die sooner than be able to figure out why such a wonder lights him to slipping feet to shoes, catches himself straightened with a finger to the lenses as naegi's clunking the futon up into itself. he pats chest, hips, thinks himself a fool once he's to spot his keys teasing him from the coffee table top. they snatch into a palm. eyes thin to the table's further.

"i did not drink  _that_ much," he barks to the close emptied tanqueray bottle.

the giggling over a shoulder meets his throbbing an ice pick. "yeah, you did." naegi places hands to hips to draw his spine right, pauses in his crafting of the living room to turn his way. five fingers hold the bottle's neck in scrutiny. "we had fun. except the part where you drooled so much i had to change my shirt, but that wasn't really your fault."

his pull into himself is as  _good god_ as any, but he prides upon his poker face and coughs to clear animosity wayward. "...fun?"

"yes, i heard it through the walls," adds kirigiri in on her stroll to claim the bathroom, "don't worry, you'll remember in nine months."

" _kyouko,"_ burns naegi's ears, and his eyeroll is humored. "she's kidding. i didn't mean it like that. you were just...fun, i don't know. funny. cute."

all things togami byakuya would sever jugular for being called. and he...and he thinks just maybe he'll upturn all the liquor soaking his stomach in nostalgia sizzling hot his skin. his face tilts high.

"i'm going home."

blinks bounce back, waves to hands parting in goodbyes. togami steals the knob a deft tug, tangos with the threshold to the hall. his head hangs. his head pounds.

and it surprises them both equal when he circles back a gaze, fierce and flaming, waits to say what the other waits to hear. but what- they've neither a solid blueprint, though relate in wisping crave. before he's even it up, there's a power in volition from the second, the very same that wills forth what may have been to any beginning; his determination, his heart. his impulsive reckoning.

"yes," naegi drops a single note. heat strokes long over his expression, and he quivers to mend, "or, um, a date first, maybe. yeah."

togami stares a chorus at him. then- a thin pricked smirking. "i was only going to ask if you'd slept well last night, makoto."

flames flick the core, break from lips that banter about stutters, palms flat to diversion. futile goes the mean, though togami does delight in the  _cute_ of that tone, and lays back to door's exterior in his swivel eyed simpering to its close.

he thinks he'll schedule a haircut appointment this afternoon.


End file.
